<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>iron tipped petals by Areiton</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26033056">iron tipped petals</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton'>Areiton</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Falling In Love, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Pining, Post-Avengers (2012), Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:47:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,903</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26033056</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing Steve learns about Tony Stark is that he’s a flashy asshole.  </p><p>The second thing he learns, is that Tony Stark <i>reeks</i> of flowers. </p><p>The thing he learns <i>later</i>, months down the road, when he is sitting in his workshop, sketching, is that Tony never coughs flowers for him.  </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>469</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>iron tipped petals</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first thing Steve learns about Tony Stark is that he’s a flashy asshole.  </p><p>The second thing he learns, is that Tony Stark <em> reeks  </em>of flowers.  </p><p>~*~  </p><p>He remembers Howard, smooth smirk and oversized ego, and the way women slipped into and out of Howard’s orbit without ever really sticking, without ever touching him. Howard smelt of gun oil and burnt metal and something expensive that Steve couldn’t name, cologne and perfume both.  </p><p>Peggy smiled and said he didn’t have a heart to lose, and Howard’s eyes had flashed, but there was more amusement than not in them, and he hadn’t disagreed, and somehow Steve expected the same from his son, from the boy who was the second coming of Howard Stark, brilliant and handsome and just as charming.  </p><p>“Don’t call him that,” Natasha says, and nothing more, and it should have been a clue—was, if he’s honest—but he doesn’t dig into it enough.  </p><p>~*~  </p><p>Tony smells like coffee and burnt metal and, <em> overwhelmingly,  </em>of flowers.  </p><p>It shocks him, because Tony does nothing to hide it, doesn’t mask his cough, doesn’t hide the sprigs of hyacinth he spits into his palm while they pace the helicarrier, just grins and winks at Bruce, and shoves them into a pocket.  </p><p>Steve is fascinated and revolted by the petals—bluebells and silky roses and the ragged edged posy—that fall out and scatter in his wake.  </p><p>~*~  </p><p>When Tony plummets to the earth, he’s small and neat, a metal wrapped missile and already, Steve knows that’s <em> wrong. </em>  </p><p>Tony walks and flowers fall in his wake, a spill of them coppery and fragrant and brave.  </p><p>He falls and nothing falls with him.  </p><p>It is strangely reassuring, when the Hulk lays him, surprisingly gentle, against the hard ground and Steve rips the faceplate away and petals spill, baby’s breath white and pale lavender, against the broken ground.  </p><p>~*~  </p><p>They move, one by one, into the Tower. Steve is startled to find he’s the last—that Natasha and Clint took up residence almost immediately, when SHIELD was screaming for Clint’s head, and Stark stook between, a shield of wealth and lawyers and no-fucks-given smirks.  </p><p>Bruce slipped in during that, and Thor arrived in a clatter of thunder and lightening and Steve—Steve returned from a six week trip around the country whose name he bore, and the Tower—it was a home.  </p><p>It was full of laughter and the sound of a Clint and Thor arguing, the scent of nail polish and gun oil, of tea and curry, and—underlying everything---the rich cloying scent of flowers.  </p><p>~*~  </p><p>Natasha pets his hair while they watch a movie, and Tony coughs belladonna onto her knee, presenting it with a flourish that makes her mouth twitch.  </p><p>Clint steals the coffee from Steve and pours a cup for Tony before climbing to perch on the fridge, and Tony smiles when a small sunshine yellow daffodil flutters to the counter.  </p><p>Bruce—Bruce <em> breathes,  </em>and Tony loves him, a spill of baby breath and hellebores.  </p><p>Pepper stalks into the Tower, willowy and graceful and beautiful, and Tony coughs pink posies and ruby red roses.  </p><p>There are asters and azaleas for Rhodes, when he lands, bone-jarring and imposing, coughed up while Tony hangs from Rhodey’s neck, and the other man laughs.  </p><p>~*~  </p><p>They never last, is the thing.  </p><p>The flowers.  </p><p>They’re constant and ever changing, and Steve doesn’t understand because flowers—he knows what it means, to cough up flowers the way that Tony does.  </p><p>He knows it means that Tony <em> loves </em>, whole-hearted and unreserved and he knows that they taper off and away, except that the ones for Rhodey and Pepper and the team never seem to fade. The flowers for the girl in a coffee shop and the janitor who brings Tony a screwdriver at SHIELD, for baby agents and Coulsen—they never last.   </p><p>The flowers never last, but they never <em> stop </em> either.  </p><p>~*~  </p><p>“He falls in love real easy, Tony does,” Rhodey says, once, when he’s very drunk and Tony is laughing at something his date said, a raspy laugh that Steve <em> knows </em> because he has heard Tony cough up flowers for over a year now, and it settles, familiar and uneasy, in his gut.  </p><p>“Howard hated it, that he was so blatant and <em> open </em> about it, that he never hid his love. That he loved at all, god knows Howard wasn’t familiar with the emotion.”  </p><p>“How does--” he cuts off, doesn’t ask the question that’s been bothering him, more and more and more.  </p><p>Rhodey smiles, sharp and almost mean. “Modern medicine, Cap. And he's strong. Stronger than he looks, Rogers. A flower or two won’t kill Tony—I don’t know that anything but <em> Tony </em> can kill Tony.”  </p><p>The thought doesn’t sit right, and his hands clench, all helpless fury, and Rhodey smiles, iron tipped soft. “Tony falls in love real easy, but it never takes, see? He loves and he loves and it’s all a cough in passing. Tony could fall in love with a cup of coffee if he’s sleep deprived enough. You gotta understand—it doesn’t take, not really.” </p><p>“He loves you. And Pepper.”  </p><p>“He does,” Rhodey allows.  </p><p>“You don’t--he coughs flowers for you,” Steve says, plaintive and accusing.  </p><p>Because he knows the legend—unrequited love. The flowers come from unrequited love.  That's what people said, back when he was a boy and they whispered about the flower cough.</p><p>“Tony,” Rhodey says, very slowly, “is an idiot. And he’s never, not once, been sure of the people who love him. I stopped coughing flowers for Tony when we were still freshmen.”  </p><p>Rhodey shifts, lifts his shirt, and he sees it, the gladiolus curving up over his hipbone, vibrant red and gold, a splash of color against his dark skin.  </p><p>~*~  </p><p>The first thing Steve learns about Tony Stark is that he’s a flashy asshole.  </p><p>The second thing he learns, is that Tony Stark <em> reeks  </em>of flowers. </p><p>The thing he learns <em> later </em>, months down the road, when he is sitting in his workshop, sketching, is that Tony never coughs flowers for him.  </p><p>~*~  </p><p>He <em> likes </em> Tony.  </p><p>Not at first, not those few days when they chased Loki and the end of the world, when they were scraping each other raw, when Tony dropped petals like he did snark and Steve couldn’t understand a man so blatant and bleeding and raw.  </p><p>But after—when he saw the shy smiles that Tony would give Natasha, and the way he was gentle with Clint when Clint was shivering in the grip of a panic attack. The way he never made Bruce feel small.  </p><p>He likes the way Tony never makes him feel stupid, even though he is everything about the future that Steve isn’t and never will be.  </p><p>He <em> likes  </em>Tony.  </p><p>He likes seeing him greasy and distracted in his ‘shop, and mumbling to JARVIS, and leaning sleepily against the counter.  </p><p>He likes when Tony drapes himself over the couch Steve is sitting on, fluffy hair bruising his arm while Tony rambles about SI and gear upgrades and where Rhodey has War Machine now.  </p><p>He likes when they fight together, the way Tony feels like an extension of himself, as fluid and familiar as Bucky had been, a lifetime ago.  </p><p>He likes that when he’s awake in the middle of the night, panic making his hands tremble, Tony sits next to him, leaning into him with a long line of warmth, but he never makes Steve talk.  </p><p>He likes Tony.  </p><p>He doesn’t realize just how much—until he coughs and feels petals tickling his throat. </p><p>~*~  </p><p>Red and pink and shiny, he stares at them. Chrysanthemums. He’d laugh, but his throat is sore and he wants, a bit, to cry.  </p><p>They mean homecomings, a flower he used to see soldiers on the front coughing when they read letters from their sweethearts.  </p><p>There’s an irony to it that makes him smile, even as he wonders what the hell he’s going to do now.  </p><p>~*~  </p><p>“You should tell him,” Natasha says, her fingers gentle on the red petals he’s clutching.  </p><p>“He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want me.”  </p><p>She doesn’t argue with him, but she looks at him, that long-suffering look that says he’s being too stupid for words.  </p><p>~*~  </p><p>When he was a boy—the flower cough was a death sentence and a shameful secret, and he thinks, maybe—maybe he loves Tony because he taught Steve that it doesn’t have to be.  </p><p>Tony reeks of flowers, a scent that is cloying and familiar and beloved, after all these months with him. And there is, Steve thinks, a kind of fierce bravery, to live so honest and open. To let the world see his love, so beautiful and raw.  </p><p>And maybe that is why—when he sits next to Tony in a briefing and watches Tony sketch DUM-E on his mission report, he doesn’t hide the scratch in his throat.  </p><p>Maybe that is why he coughs, hard and uncontrollable, when Tony is the one waiting for him to wake up in medical.  </p><p>Maybe that is why he spits red petals into his hand, and tucks them away while Tony rambles in the middle of the night.  </p><p>He doesn’t hide it.  </p><p>He doesn’t <em> want </em> to hide it.  </p><p>~*~  </p><p>Tony has never, never once, coughed flowers for him.  </p><p>He knows what it means.  </p><p>He knows that Tony, who loves deep and free and fleeting—doesn't love him.  </p><p>Steve thinks he’d mind more, if Tony didn’t smile at him, eyes bright and cautious and sad, somehow.  </p><p>~*~  </p><p>He coughs when Tony laughs, and spits out petals when he grumbles over coffee and chokes on blossoms, tight and thick in his throat, when Tony curses and flies overhead, repulsors blasting.  </p><p>He leaves flowers in the kitchen and the gym and the communal living room, and across the surfaces of his own apartment.  </p><p>He draws Tony with them, when he’s alone.  </p><p>But he never leaves them in the workshop, and he never answers the question in Tony’s eyes.  </p><p>~*~  </p><p>He finds this.  </p><p>A lily, startlingly white and flecked with drops of blood, leaning against one of the chrysanthemums he left on the table next to his coffee.  </p><p>And Tony, watching him, with big eyes and bloody lips and a hopeful, bruised smile.  </p><p>“Am I wrong,” he whispers. “Is--is it mine?”  </p><p>Steve touches the lily, white and brilliant and beautiful.  </p><p>“You don’t cough for me,” he says, softly and Tony laughs, a high sharp noise that makes Steve look up at him.  </p><p>Tony doesn’t answer—just takes him by his hand, and leads him down the hall to his private quarters.  </p><p>The scent registers first, thick and cloying, the scent of copper and funerals and spring—the scent of lilies. They’re <em> everywhere, </em>  a mountain piled on every table, scattered on the floor. White and red and  he can feel a flower pressing against his throat, choking him, and he gasps, “ <em> Tony.”  </em> </p><p>“When I cough for you, Steve—it's not for the world to see,” Tony murmurs, and he chokes, love swept and stunned and Tony kisses him until the feeling fades, and all that he can taste is this—Tony. Lilies and chrysanthemums and copper and <em> Tony. </em> </p><p>~*~ </p><p>Tony still smells like flowers.  </p><p>Sometimes, Steve still coughs.  </p><p>When they curl together, in the dark, their bed is surrounded by white lilies and red chrysanthemums and Steve sleeps with Tony tucked up under his chin, and the sweet cloying scent of their love.   </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wanted a world where Hanahaki was more common and not a death sentence because that always makes me sad. This is what happened.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>